


The Very Best Gifts

by IndigoSynopsis



Series: Beedleverse: Love Carries us Through [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Smut in chapter Two, birthday stuff, general silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoSynopsis/pseuds/IndigoSynopsis
Summary: In a future where children run amok, our brave hero finds himself ambushed in the dead of morning by his twin terrors and their scheming older brother. Will he survive?A short birthday fic starring: Harry 'I can't believe I'm 40' Potter and Hermione 'Damn she lookin' fine' Potter. First chapter is sweet. Second chapter is spicy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Series: Beedleverse: Love Carries us Through [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984214
Comments: 29
Kudos: 107
Collections: HMS Harmony Discord Writing Fest - Harry's 40th Birthday





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Invieri for the beta (and the summary suggestion, LOL). You are a lovely soul.

Harry supposed they thought they were being quiet, like they were going to sneak into his room and get the better of him. But he was Harry Potter the Auror Consultant, Defense Professor, and notoriously light sleeper. Being alert was pretty much his job. That, and none of his children had quite mastered the art of stealth. He’d heard them messing around in the kitchen, heard them thundering up the stairs, and definitely heard them fighting over who was going to enter the room first. Now they were standing at the foot of his bed, arguing in what they _thought_ were hushed tones. 

“Shhh, you’re gonna wake him up!”

“That’s the point.”

“But we’re not in position ye—”

“Chrys, stop!” 

Harry’s eyes shot open as something heavy flopped across his chest, causing his breath to come out in a loud wheeze. He knew who it was before she came fully into focus, her bushy black hair tickling his nose. Instead of getting up, however, Harry shut his eyes again and let out a loud, deliberate snore. 

“Dad!” she was poking him now. His thirteen year old daughter was clearly not planning on letting up. 

“You aren’t a child anymore, you know,” he said, sitting up and grabbing his glasses. He could hear her scrambling off the bed as he slid the frames onto his nose. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!” came a chorus of voices. Harry was stunned for a moment, then his face split into a wide grin. There, standing proudly in front of him, were three of his favorite people. Chrysanthemum (Chrys, as she insisted to be called) was posing with her hands motioning toward a bright red and gold banner. Rowan, Chrys’s brown-haired twin, was holding on to one end and puffing out his chest. The other end of the banner was floating on its own, though with a glance to the left Harry could see who was doing the floating. Teddy Lupin stood there in all of his tall, lanky glory, wand pointed at the banner with a smile on his face. 

“Hi dad,” he said. We—” 

“We made this for you,” Rowan cut in, raising the banner higher, “I did this half.” He pointed to the end he was holding, and Harry noticed it _was_ a bit neater than the other side. The letters looked as if they’d been meticulously measured and just about every inch of space was covered in tiny yellow dots. The other half was just as vibrant, but the last ‘Y’ in “Birthday” was written ever so slightly beneath the ‘A’ . 

Chrys pointed excitedly at her half. “I ran out of space, but Teddy helped us enchant it. Look at this!” She poked the banner with her finger and little bits of glitter fell from the top to the bottom. 

“See? No mess! Now Mum won’t die.” She and Rowan looked expectantly at Teddy, who levitated the banner to rest on Harry’s shoulders. It felt soft and cool to the touch, and he reached up to feel the material between his pointer and thumb. Looking a bit closer, the little balls he thought were polka dots were in fact tiny golden snitches, made to look like they were zooming around the fabric. Something swelled in his chest. 

“Come here, you three,” he said, suddenly overcome with affection. Where would he hang this? Probably in his study, next to the countless other art and trinkets gifted to him by his kids. I’ll magick the wall to make space if I must, Harry thought as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled each of them in for a hug. Small kisses were planted on the heads of Rowan and Chrys, who groaned and wriggled away from his grasp. 

“Hey, it’s my birthday you know!” he said, feigning hurt feelings. 

“Okay but, save the huggy stuff for after our _real_ present,” Chrys shot back. She took Rowan by his shirt sleeve and led him out of the room. But before Rowan’s fluffy brown hair was out of sight, Harry heard him call out. 

“Remember, you can’t bring him down until ten minutes from now, okay?”

“I promise!” Teddy called in response. He gave a little wave and sat down on the bed.

“Mum’s downstairs, monitoring their project,” Teddy explained. Harry was rifling through his drawers now, trying to find something to wear. After taking out a plain black sweater and jeans, he turned back toward the metamorphmagus. 

“Should I be worried?” he asked. 

“Not this time,” Teddy’s eyes went wide, clearly remembering the exploding cupcake incident from two years before. “So,” he said, in what Harry thought was an effort to change the subject, “How does it feel to be forty?” 

“Weird,” he replied. It was the only answer Harry could think of. He didn’t elaborate either, instead heading to the bathroom to freshen up.

He was...forty. Four entire decades of his life had gone by. He looked at himself in the mirror and tried to take in the physical evidence of his age. In all honesty, there wasn’t much.Gone was most of the evidence of his devastating childhood or his time on the run. Even his scar had faded a considerable amount. His eyes were still the same, however, perhaps with a few added crinkles to the outer edge. But Hermione always said he’d forever have that intense green gaze. He supposed he looked even more so with a single greyish streak in his unruly hair and a beard. But Wizards, magic running in their veins, often lived a long time. So turning forty wasn’t a big deal to most. 

To him, though, as he stood washing his face, it meant he was twenty years past the horrors of his youth, twenty years to feel confident that love and family was something he could have. He had children off to their third year at Hogwarts and one making a modest name for himself in the wizarding community. He had a job he loved, and a wife for which he would capture the stars if he could, and friends that showed him his birthday was one actually worth celebrating. Forty, to Harry, was a testament to how fortunate he truly was. 

“Dad, you okay there?” he was roused to his thoughts as Teddy knocked on the door, “It’s been ten minutes. I can hear the whining.” 

“Ah, yes. I’m on my way.” He hurriedly pulled the shirt over his head and traded his pajama pants for jeans, running a hand through his hair exactly one time. He then strode into the bedroom to find his eldest waiting at the door. 

“Nice hair,” said Harry as he walked by, reaching up and ruffling Teddy’s currently-messy locks, “...and eyes. And scar! Bit creepy, really.” He grinned at the young man before flicking him lightly on the forehead and walking downstairs. 

“I was wondering if you were going to say something,” Teddy said, “I’ve been working on that for a solid month! I even got the grey part.” 

Harry laughed and started to reply.

“You know, you didn’t need to do that part. I—” He stopped, all thoughts of Teddy’s interpretation blown from his mind as he took in the sight in front of him. 

The first thing he noticed was the mess. Every working counter was covered in a light dusting of flour, and the sink was filled to the brim with bowls and...was that a meat tenderizer? Harry didn’t want to know.   
  
Next, he saw the decorations. Streamers of every color hung from wall to wall, and confetti was floating around the ceiling like little stars. The kitchen table was covered in a (relatively clean) tablecloth and piled high with just about every breakfast food one could imagine. Eggs, toast, sausage...and at the head of the table a gigantic stack of pancakes topped with whipped cream and candles. 

But most noticeably, and perhaps Harry’s favorite sight of them all, was the woman currently leaning against the wall nearest him. Her brown hair was pulled back in a braid, though several strands had refused to stay in one place. She had on a bright yellow blouse and a matching sunny smile, which lit up her whole face as soon as Harry entered the room.

“Happy Birthday!” she said. Before Harry knew it, she was in his arms, squeezing him tight and planting a kiss on his cheek. The sensation of Hermione’s lips took Harry’s full attention. After all this time, Hermione’s touch still had a way of reverberating throughout his whole body. The thought crossed his mind to hold her for just a while longer, but a cough from Teddy’s direction forced him back into the kitchen. Right, Birthday. Kids. 

Hermione pulled back and met his gaze, pulling him with both hands over to the head of the table. She sat in a chair to his left, and laid one of her hands over his. Harry squeezed it, flashing her another smile before directing his attention to his kids. 

“We made you breakfast,” said Chrys, rather matter-of- fact. “Rowan and I did it. Mostly.” Chrys shot a very pointed look at Hermione, who giggled and took out her wand. One muttered incantation later and the candles sprang to life.   
  
“Listen closely,” Rowan said, “To the ones in the middle.” Harry eyed the special candles shaped like a four and a zero, and noticed after a few moments that a melody seemed to be coming from the flame. 

“Are they...singing?” Harry asked, tilting his head so he could hear better. 

They were. The candles were singing Happy Birthday in a squeaky, high pitched tone. Harry really wanted to know which shop they’d gotten these from, or if they’d tried to enchant them with a bit of undercover magic. The candles seemed to be harmonizing based on their color, though the grey one was having some trouble staying on key. 

Teddy was trying his hardest not to laugh, his hair turning a platinum blonde color from the ends as he bit his lip. Chrys and Rowan, however, were looking at Harry expectantly, and he managed to snort only once before reigning it in. This was leagues better than the exploding cupcakes, after all. He waited until the candles got to the end of their song and, with a quick glance to the twins for their permission, blew them out.   
  
“ _Happy Birth….day….to….”_ the candles uttered pathetically as their fires died. Harry made quick work of plucking them from his pancakes and putting them on a napkin, looking up to see Chrys and Rowan starting in on their own, smaller pancake stacks. 

His “Breakfast Party”, as Chrys called it, gave Harry a warmth he cherished every time all five of them could sit down at the table together. It was nearly impossible during the school year, what with Teddy galavanting across London for his job, he and the twins at Hogwarts, and Hermione working at the Ministry. Even during the summer it had become difficult. Rowan and Chrys went to Muggle Summer Camp (sometimes apart, sometimes together) and Teddy had been taking more frequent trips with Victoire Weasley. But they had never missed his birthday, not even once. His gaze travelled over the table as he helped himself to some sausage and pumpkin juice, and finally came to settle on Hermione.   
  
Hermione. Harry found himself watching as she conversed with Teddy about his recent exploits. A few rays of sunshine bathed her in the morning light, turning her hair an even warmer brown and highlighting the subtle lines of her jaw. Harry took an absent sip from his glass of pumpkin juice as she laughed, thinking that watching Hermione was enough of a gift to last him the rest of his life. When Hermione told Teddy off for levitating Chrys’s bacon above her head, the young man switched to performing various charms and quizzing the twins. At this, Hermione finally turned to Harry. 

“Are you going to eat your pancakes or stare?” she said, warm brown eyes flashing in amusement. 

“You’re distracting me.” 

“Oh? Allow me to offer my assistance, then.” She leaned forward without breaking eye contact, taking a piece of pancake on the end of her fork and raising it to Harry’s lips. Just as he opened his mouth, however, she pulled the fork back and placed it in her own mouth. 

“Excuse me!” Harry said, reaching over to steal some of her eggs, “Is that any way to treat the birthday boy?” 

“Oh, I’ll make it up to you later,” Hermione replied, smiling brightly. Harry almost choked. 

“Dad, you and Mum are doing it again,” Chrys said. Harry looked up to see his daughter standing between him and Teddy, brandishing a pile of cards and a small black envelope. 

“Open the cards first, then the envelope,” she said.

“What's in it?”

“Another surprise! Obviously.” She remained standing there as Harry opened the cards one by one. Teddy’s blew glitter all over Harry’s face, which vanished while the twins dissolved into laughter. Chrys’s card was red trimmed with gold, and Rowan’s was gold trimmed with red. Both, when put together, said “We love you dad” in bright silver letters. Harry had to choke back tears. 

Hermione’s card was very simple and elegant. It read Happy 40th Birthday, Harry with her neat, looping signature beneath. Harry, for reasons he would never tell any of his children, flushed and shot his wife a look. She only smiled and nodded at the little black envelope. 

“What’s...what’s in here?” He took it between his fingers, opening the seal and pulling out a single sheet of smooth photo paper. It was black on the back, and Harry ran his hand over it before turning it over. 

He almost dropped it. 

The picture was the Muggle kind, unmoving, and was bordered with a small floral decoration. It contained nine people, each standing on the back porch of their house. He recognized this picture, taken five summers ago when Hermione’s parents had come to visit. They were on the left, David Granger’s arm securely around Emmaline’s waist. Next to them stood Teddy, then Harry and Hermione with Chrys and Rowan in front. But Harry was more focused on the woman standing on his other side. Lily Potter was smiling, face half shaded beneath the porch’s awning. To her left stood James, strikingly similar to the way Harry himself looked. 

“Dad...are you alright?” Rowan asked. Harry realized the cold he now felt on his cheeks must be tears.

“I’m...better than alright,” he said, his voice cracking, “I’m wonderful. How...how did you all do this?” His fingers hovered over his father’s visage, smiling up at him with his hand laced with Lily’s. 

“Camp!” Chrys said, hugging Harry’s neck, “We were learning to use photo editing software on computers. It was hard—We’ve been trying to get it perfect all summer.” 

“We wanted you to have a family photo with all of us in it,” said Rowan. “Remember when we found that one unmoving photo of your parents? We put it in the computer and made it look like they were there with us. Like, that summer.” 

“It’s perfect,” Harry said. He looked up at Hermione, whose eyes were a little misty.   
  
“Don’t look at me!” she said, “They did this on their own. I did order a rather nice picture frame for it though.” Harry absolutely beamed as he got to his feet, holding the photograph in one hand as he embraced his children with his free arm. They were right, he had all kinds of photographs and paintings of their family, but not a single one where his parents were included. He hadn’t even really thought it was possible. Chrys and Rowan, who he knew had inherited Hermione’s brains, had used their skills to make something they knew would make him happy. 

“Alright, that’s enough sentimental shi- _stuff_ ,” Teddy said suddenly, “I’m taking these two on an adventure today so you can have the house to yourselves.”

“To ourselves?” Harry looked at Hermione, “You don’t have work?” Usually, they’d eat Breakfast together and meet later at The Burrow, where Harry’s ‘big party’ would be held. 

“Nope. Took the day off…” she winked at him as Rowan and Chrys hurriedly put on their shoes. In no time, they were bouncing out the door and waving goodbye. Teddy was trying to down a few last sips of coffee before he followed. 

“We won’t come back here before we head to The Burrow,” he said, looking between the two of them, “Try not to be...late.” With that, he took a very loud slurp from his cup, magicked it into the sink, and ran off after the twins. 

Harry watched them go, still holding the photograph in his right hand and thinking that he truly had three of the best gifts known to man. Four, if you counted Hermione, which Harry most certainly did. 

As the three vanished when Teddy apparated them away, Harry made a move to turn back into the house, but not before he felt Hermione take his hand and spin him around to face her. She still had the same smile as earlier, though it was now tinged with a devilish look. 

It was a look she reserved for when they were alone.

“Should we...clean up after them?” Harry asked, nodding toward the table and pile of dishes. 

“We could, if that’s what you want,” her arms snaked around his waist, one thumb brushing under the hem of his shirt, “Or I could give you _my_ surprise. Your choice, of course.” Her grin was even wider now. He grinned in response, and found his arms encircling her waist in return. He enjoyed the feel of soft fabric against his rough palms, and the delightful shudder that ran through Hermione as his fingertips ghosted against her sides.

Then he leaned down, pressed his lips to hers, and closed the door behind them. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thaaank you ProphecyMarauder45 for the beta!!!
> 
> leggoooooo

“Mm, Harry, love,” Hermione said. Each word came out breathy and low, like she was having trouble controlling herself. How many minutes had it been? Harry didn’t know. Somehow her hair had come undone and was regaining its bushy volume. The photograph had been replaced in its envelope. Now he had Hermione’s back pressed against the door, her hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as he trailed kisses along her jaw. 

“Yes?” he said.

“Y-your gift…” 

“You _are_ my gift.” 

Hermione pressed her hands to his chest and pushed, tearing herself away from him. Harry’s body began tingling, instantly missing her warmth. 

“I wanted to do something _extra_ special for you this time,” she said. Harry found himself wondering what could possibly be more extra special than alone-time with his wife on his birthday. He reached as if to grab her again and pull her back in, but Hermione giggled and danced out of his reach. 

“Come _on,_ Harry.” She turned around, throwing a lascivious glance over her shoulder and then moved toward the living room. Harry ran a hand through his hair, following behind while eyeing the way her blouse creased with every step. Just the tiniest bit of skin was exposed on her left side and it was all Harry could do to keep himself from reaching out, brushing it, exposing more. Hell, he could have easily caught up to her, spin her around and show her exactly how much he appreciated her. 

But she wanted to surprise him with something, and Harry knew whatever it was would be worth the momentary delay. So he let Hermione lead him into the den, watching curiously as she took both his hands and reached up to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. 

Then, without warning, Hermione pushed him back onto the couch. He bounced a little, settling in just as she straddled him and captured his mouth in a fiery kiss. Harry’s hands were instantly on her again, trying to touch every inch of her at once. He knew her body; he knew every dip, every curve, every perfect imperfection. He _certainly_ knew that spot on the small of her back. All he had to do was press it and—

“Fuck.” Hermione moaned into their kiss, pressing harder against him. He felt her tongue tease his bottom lip until his darted out to meet her, a slow, languid motion which was returned with equal enthusiasm. One of his hands tangled in her curls and gave it a gentle tug. The whole room felt hot. _She_ felt hot. The breath on his lips fogging his glasses as she pulled back. Then he took his turn, leaning forward to press feather-light kisses to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her neck—anywhere he could reach as he felt himself grow hard beneath her. 

He was vaguely aware of his wife taking out her wand and waving it. In the next instant, she moved further back, smiling at him as the lights dimmed around them and a song began to play. 

“Hermione, what—” 

“Shhh. Watch me,” Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper as she rose from Harry’s lap and backed away. As she did, she slid one hand down Harry’s chest and ghosted over his jeans, smiling as the barest gasp escaped his lips. 

The music had grown louder now, some R&B song with reverberating bass he vaguely recognized. It had a steady, low beat, to which Hermione was now swaying her hips to. _Left, right, left, right._ Harry’s eyes followed as she took a few steps forward, then back just out of his reach. Her hands travelled up and down her body, starting at the neck and sliding down over her breasts. 

She was making eye contact, her brown irises dark as she opened one button, then two. She was unwrapping the best birthday present for him and it was oh so unfair… and perfect… and _unfair._ He reached down, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants to give himself some sort of relief. An absent hand stroked his cock through his boxers as Hermione’s final button came undone. She let the blouse hang off her shoulders for just a moment before it slid to the floor. 

_“Hermione,”_ Harry whimpered, gripping himself a little harder. She did a little twirl, right on beat, facing away as she lifted her hair to expose her back and shoulder blades. She wasted no time in bending over, shimmying her way out of her jeans and tossing them aside. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat. 

“Are those the…” Harry wasn’t sure if he whispered his half-question out loud or thought it. Either way, Hermione seemed to understand what he was saying and nodded, pulling her underwear down just slightly but stopping just before they slipped over her hips. This was the side of Hermione Granger that only he got to see, the side that could confidently sport a sheer embroidered set and matching knee-high leggings. It was why Harry had bought her the set in the first place. He’d taken one look at it in a Muggle department store and absolutely had to see her wear it. But she hadn’t put it on in the three months since the day he brought it home.   
  
Now he knew why. 

The soft mesh material had intricate weavings but covered all the most tantalizing bits of her. Tiny flecks of gold on the chocolate lace brought out the flush on her skin and highlighted the amber tones in her eyes. It cupped each of her breasts with delicacy and had a tiny clasp in the front, for occasions like these when Harry planned on removing the garment as quickly as possible. Though the best part, for Harry, was the way the lacy band hugged Hermione’s waist.

It pressed in on them the way his hands did whenever he pulled her closer, emphasizing the soft curves of her stomach and hips. It was these hips that Harry was focused on as she continued to dance. By this point, the music had reached its climax and was now fading into silence, but Hermione had no intentions of stopping. 

Instead, she lowered herself to the ground, tossing that beautiful mane of curls over her shoulder as she bent at the knee. Then she was on all fours, Harry’s eyes locked on hers as she made slow, deliberate movements across the living room floor. She crawled, catlike, until she reached him, then placed her palms on his knees. 

Her hands inched up his legs, and moved his hand away from his boxers, replacing it with her own. Harry let out a small hiss as she stroked the length of his cock. Touching him in careful motion, Hermione grinned as she watched every little twitch shudder that ran through Harry’s body. 

“Did you enjoy your gift?” she asked. He opened his mouth to answer, but only a small moan came out as she gave him a particularly firm stroke. It was silly, he thought, that she could make him feel this way without even touching his skin. But the warmth of her hand through the soft fabric and images of her shirt falling to the floor had him arching his hips up with her every move. 

“You’re going to... kill me…” he said finally, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” 

“Would you believe ‘Ministry gatherings’?” 

“I most certainly would not.” 

“Ah, well. A witch must have at least one secret, don’t you think?” Her hand slowed to a pause, eliciting a dramatic whine from Harry. But this was almost rectified by the spectacular view of her lace-covered rear he got as she stood and turned away. There was a pause; the air in the room felt hot and they were close to lighting it all aflame. On the one hand, Harry wanted to frame the memory of soft lace on her skin forever, to watch her dance for him and _only_ for him. But he couldn't ignore that heat. He couldn’t ignore the way his body shivered as she looked over her shoulder and gave a small shake of her hips. 

“Isn’t there something else you’d like to do for your birthday?” she whispered. 

The next few minutes were a blur. Harry shot off the couch at Hermione’s words, nearly tripping over himself as his pants dropped to his knees. He shimmied them all the way off, kicking them aside and scooping Hermione into his arms. Somehow he managed to carry her up the stairs — he didn’t know how, on account of his eyes meeting hers the whole time — and nudged the bedroom door open with his foot. Seconds later, he’d tossed his wife onto the bed, where she landed with a bounce as Harry moved on top of her. 

Propping himself up with one hand, Harry used the other to gently tug one of her breasts free. He lowered his mouth to her nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive rosy skin and basked in the little whines and moans he heard in response. He could feel her body giving small, nearly undetectable shivers as he switched sides, leaving a bite through the fabric before unhooking the garment altogether and watching as it fell away. 

_Merlin_. He couldn’t help but take a moment to just _look_ at the absolute art piece in front of him. While Harry had a grey streak in his hair, Hermione had none, though the brown had grown a tad darker over the years and framed her face perfectly as it fanned out on the bed. Her arms, lean and muscular from years of carrying more books than he could ever comprehend, rested above her head in a way that highlighted the shape and curve of the rest of her body. 

“Oh, Harry, you’re staring.” Harry came back to his senses and noticed he was now staring at her hips, and those tiger stripes she always told him she hated but he always thought added to her beauty. He looked up at her to find a soft smile on her lips. 

“I suppose I am, Mrs. Granger-Potter,” he replied. 

“We’ve been married for sixteen years and you still look at me like that.”

“Right, sixteen of the best years of my bloody life.” He leaned down and whispered into her ear, “And I’m going to keep looking, if you don’t mind.” 

Harry pressed a kiss to her cheek, then rose up, sitting on his heels so he could take in the rest of her body. He made quite a show of running his hand over every inch of skin he could reach. He lightly pinched both her nipples, then squeezed before dancing over her stomach and thighs. He chanced a glance up to her face, noting the way her eyes closed and her lips parted just so. She trusted him fully, and he loved her for it. He watched her breath hitch as his fingers lingered on those lovely little thigh marks, then he spread her legs and repositioned himself between them. 

Harry’s boxers felt impossibly tight, growing even more so when he saw Hermione’s underwear appeared far darker between her legs. She was entirely aroused, and he was so close. _So_ close. All he’d have to do is move the fabric aside...

But not yet. He wanted just a little more time. 

“Mmm...off,” Harry said, “I want these _off.”_ He tugged the rim of her underwear down and she lifted her hips to help him. Soon, they were off and somewhere on the floor—Harry didn’t care—and he was pulling his own shirt over his head. He caught Hermione staring at him and he gave a playful flex, making her giggle, before repositioning himself so his mouth was level with her core. He pressed one kiss to her inner thigh, then a bite, then another. His middle and pointer finger reaching up to gently massage her clit. 

“Oh Gods—” Harry leaned his head on one of her thighs and watched Hermione writhe with his touch. He moved at a steady, consistent pace, knowing what she liked and how she’d whimper when he pressed the rough pads of his fingers down and changed direction. He especially enjoyed the sound she made when he slipped two of his fingers inside of her. A low ‘fu-u..’ trailed off into a high pitched moan.

Unable to resist any longer, Harry leaned downward. He pressed his tongue against her folds, licking upward until he reached her clit. He repeated this action two, three more times until Hermione put one of her hands on his head, tangling her fingers in his mess of black hair. He liked it when she grabbed there and tugged. He liked it more when she spread her legs a little wider, pushing her hips up toward him. 

She did this the moment Harry’s tongue began to circle her clit and he slid his fingers back inside her. He settled into a rhythm, fingers moving in a classic _come hither_ motion and Hermione’s hips rolled upward. His own hips were moving on their own, too. Harry couldn’t help it; the combination between the noises she was making and the wonderful way she smelled was driving him to the point of no return. 

“H-harry,” Hermione said. It was so quiet it was almost a whisper, but it brought him back from his thoughts. Her hips weren’t quite so rhythmic anymore, instead, Harry felt her trembling and knew she was close without her saying so. He doubled down on his efforts, increasing the pace of his fingers while maintaining a constant rhythm with his tongue. As her moans grew louder, Harry closed his eyes and let the sound wash over him. _Perfect_. 

He felt it before he heard it. Hermione’s whole body tensed up, her thighs squeezed around his head and her hand tightened in his hair. His glasses fogged and went askew, but he kept going. He could feel the sheets move as she grabbed at them with her free hand. He didn’t stop until she let out a string of curses and fell back in a wobbly, shaking heap. She laid there, breathing heavily as Harry sat up and rubbed soft circles on her stomach. 

“It’s… _your_ birthday, you know,” she said, panting a bit between each word. “I’m not sure how I was the one on the receiving end.”

“You should know what those little noises of yours do to me,” Harry replied, reaching up to fix his misaligned glasses. 

“Yeah?” The playful look was back, “What do they do?” 

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer. Instead, he did a complicated bit of hand-waving and his underwear simply disappeared. His erection sprang forth, freed from its prison and glistening slightly with pre. He was almost painfully hard at this point. A simple brush of his hand over the tip was enough to make him bite back a moan. The time for teasing was over. 

Harry grabbed Hermione’s legs, pulled her toward him and lined himself up to her entrance. He looked up, returning the lust-filled smile on that beautiful, flushed face, and thrust deep into her in one move.

Everything fell away around him. He was sure he let out a moan, maybe a curse or two, but all he could focus on was her. Hermione’s warm, tight wetness absolutely enveloped him, making him shudder as he began to move. The first two thrusts were slow, with Harry pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in with a force one might not expect from a 40-year-old man. He thought about continuing to go slowly, to build things up again, but she grabbed at his chest and Harry stopped pretending he could control himself anymore. There was nothing but her. Nothing but the delicious sounds she was making as his hips snapped against hers over and over. Moans of _‘Harry_ ’ and _‘Oh god please don’t stop’_ filled his head and he lost track of time. 

Hermione’s hands were everywhere on him. They were on his chest, they were on his shoulders. They pulled him toward her and Harry went willingly because truth be told he _needed_ to be closer. Hermione’s legs and arms were wrapped so tightly around him it was almost too difficult to move. _Almost_. But he kept a constant pace anyway, rocking against her, their two bodies developing a sheen of sweat while Harry whispered praises in her ear. She was perfect. She was beautiful. She was sexy. She was his. 

It wasn’t much longer that Harry’s thrusts began to grow erratic. Pleasure built swiftly in his core and reverberated outward as he hurtled toward his release. With a few more deep, arrhythmic thrusts, Harry reached his peak, emptying himself inside her. 

They lay there, breathing heavily as they came back to themselves. Harry rolled off of her, then pulled her onto his chest. Some of her hair tickled his nose and he sneezed, causing her to giggle and roll over to face him. 

“I love you,” she said. She kissed his chest, leaving little electrified spots behind wherever she placed her lips. 

“I love you too,” He replied, reaching up to brush a hair behind her ear, “I was serious when I said you were my gift.” Hermione beamed. If she was tired, Harry couldn’t tell. With a small grunt, his wife rose up and straddled him, cupping his cheeks and capturing his lips yet again. Harry responded by wrapping his arms around her. Pulling her closer meant her whole body was pressed against his, and as he began to run his hands up and down her sides, Harry could feel his arousal returning. 

Hermione clearly felt this and responded in kind by grinding down hard against him. Harry groaned, repositioned his hands on her rear as she pulled back a little. He could still feel the movement of her lips as she mumbled.  
  
“When are we going to be too old to go multiple rounds?” He responded by giving her a light slap on the behind and pulling her upward a little.

“I’d say seventy, give or take a couple of years.” He was fully hard again, and wanted very badly to be inside her. No build up this time, just have her as many times as he could before they needed to meet their family & friends. 

As she sunk down onto him, Harry moaned her name, and as the sounds of their lovemaking echoed through the empty house, he hoped that he’d have many more birthdays just like this. 


End file.
